


Middlegame

by caminante



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: F/M, Gen, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1960632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caminante/pseuds/caminante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nase Asumi is not going to be anybody's token girl go player.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Middlegame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hestialuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hestialuna/gifts).



> The request was for Nase/Ko Young Ha, and there’s some of that in here, but writing a Nase story meant confronting my disappointment over how she just disappears from the manga while she’s in the middle of a crisis of confidence. Consequently, this story focuses on Nase pulling herself out of that slump and becoming a pro.

Nase Asumi knows exactly where she stands. Well, currently she’s standing in line at the McDonald’s closest to the Go Institute waiting for Waya to show up, but that’s not what she means. Nase prides herself on knowing and comfortably acknowledging that she’s in the middle of the pack in regards to her ranking, income, name recognition, and even her social standing within the professional go world.

Of course, she _could_ make more money and increase her reputation from the promotional spokesperson and announcer jobs that she’s frequently offered, but she turns most of them down. She’s called “the cute, girl pro” far too often already and she’d rather be less well-known than be objectified and used as a mascot.

Her current position isn’t exactly a glamorous one, and of course it would be nice to headline a tournament from time to time, or to rack up one of the titles that carry significant prize money. She wants to improve just as much as anyone else in this field, and she’ll keep striving for those goals, but she’s not going to take her current status for granted either. She’s never going to forget how tirelessly and diligently she worked to get this far and how close she came to quitting while she was still in high school. Consequently, she’s not about to complain about being _“average.”_

So yes, she knows she’s not the Chosen One or anything but this is still the path for her and, unlike _certain_ players who think there’s no place between revolutionizing the entire way the game is played and failure, she’s happy being merely one of the best players rather than the absolute best.

She’s still never won a match against Touya Akira and has yet to make it out of the preliminary rounds for a major title, but she’s only in her mid-twenties and ten years ago she honestly didn’t believe that she’d ever make pro, so who knows where she’ll stand a decade from now?

McDonald’s isn’t exactly the typical location to take stock of one’s life, but it’s been years since she last ate here. While Nase dips her atrociously greasy fries into an overly sweet milkshake and stares at the groups of boisterous teenagers filling the restaurant, she can’t help but recall her high school years. Meeting here is probably a calculated move on Waya’s part, meant to butter her up with nostalgia so that she’ll sign up for his latest plan.

“It’ll be just like back in our insei days!” he’d said in his email about the tournament and then asked her to meet him at this McDonald’s to discuss it. She knows that he intended to conjure up happy memories of laughter, community, and like-minded friends striving towards the same goal—and there was certainly plenty of that as an insei, especially in the first few years—but for Nase, thinking about her insei days will also always remind her of the doubt, loneliness, and insecurity she felt while struggling to pass the pro exam and how she nearly abandoned her lifelong dream prematurely.

In retrospect, Nase is happy that her crisis of confidence happened before she turned pro, and that as a result she was able to begin her career clear-headed and comfortably acknowledging her limits, while not being hindered by them. Nonetheless, her heart will always ache when she recalls that year, nearly a decade ago, when she almost gave up.

 

* * *

 

It was the year after Waya, Ochi and Shindou propelled themselves into the world of the pros and Isumi quit the insei program and ran off to China.

Waya and Ochi surpassing her had been one thing, and not exactly unexpected, but _Shindou!_ He’d gone from the bottom of Class Two to being a pro in _one year!_ It was so discouraging, being surpassed by someone so new to the game, when she’d spent her entire childhood and adolescence immersed in careful study and constant practice.

Nase spent more than six months in the aftermath of that year’s pro exam vacillating about whether or not to drop out of the insei program and to give up on becoming a pro.

On the one hand, Nase was certain that there was absolutely nothing she wanted to do more than play go—it satisfied both her competitive streak and her studious side and she loved that each game provided unique challenges and opportunities for growth.

But on the other hand, maybe she needed to refocus her career path on a more attainable goal and just teach go lessons on the side? Or perhaps she should work weekends at a go salon while pursuing a more practical career? She had begun to deeply doubt her ability and to fear that she was wasting her time on an unattainable goal.

It didn’t help that she spent so much time during that year around Iijima. They had been friends for years but he had become increasingly dejected and bitter. His change had been so gradual that she hadn’t realized how much his attitude was affecting hers. It certainly didn’t help matters that Isumi was suddenly absent and unavailable to counterbalance Iijima’s pessimism. She empathized with Isumi’s reasons for practically disappearing that year, but they had studied together at the Nine Star Club since elementary school and she felt more lost than she could have anticipated without the camaraderie and encouragement that their friendship had always provided.

Everyone was speculating about the “New Wave” in the professional go world and it had felt like nobody expected her to pass the pro exam. At her lowest point, she’d wondered if anyone would even notice if she dropped out of the program; or if she did manage to pass, would they even care?

Awash in self-criticism and doubt, she even declined a friendly invitation from Waya to join the study group he was starting for young pros and top insei—a group full of people she knew and had played against for years—because she genuinely believed that she would hold the group back.

 

* * *

 

That spring, when Iijima finally followed through on all his talk and dropped out of the insei program, Nase had initially wondered if everyone would expect her to do the same. However, she soon realized that her attitude and confidence were improving without constant exposure to his litany of pessimism.

Gradually, she began to feel confident in her decision to remain an insei but the always-stressful pro exam was fast approaching and she knew that her chances of passing were lower than ever after such a rocky year.

Nonetheless, she steeled her resolve and threw herself into training with extra zeal in the few months remaining before the exam. As a result, she sailed through the preliminary round of the exam with no loses and when round two began she felt prouder and more confident of her ability than ever before.

But then she was scheduled for back-to-back games with Isumi and Honda at the start of the round and lost both games. Neither defeat was particularly surprising—though beating Honda during the previous year’s exam had been one of her proudest moments—however, opening with consecutive losses affected her performance in the next several games and when the first month of the pro exam ended she could barely recall that initial burst of confidence and exhilaration.

Looking back, she assumes that this attitude was broadcast loudly through her body language and that her growing air of defeat must have prompted Sakurano Chieko to ask her out for coffee one day after a weekly session at the Nine Star Club.

At the time, Nase knew Sakurano-sensei in the same general way that she knew all of the pros affiliated with the Nine Star Club. Unlike in small, private study groups, students and teachers changed groups frequently within the club. This practice ensured that members gained experienced with a variety of playing styles and philosophies, but it didn’t foster the sort of deep mentorship and guidance that naturally grew out of smaller groups.

Nase had watched and played many games against Sakurano-sensei and subsequently knew that she was a cheerful and encouraging teacher who would smile at you and call you -chan during a game. Nase had also learned the hard way that it was dangerous to let Sakurano-sensei’s bubbly personality lull you into underestimating her, as she would be skillfully dismantling your defense and deflecting your attacks all the while. Additionally, she had inwardly noted that Sakurano-sensei’s post-game discussions were more thorough and helpful than most of the other pros, but until that day she and Sakurano-sensei had never been especially close.

Nase had been confused and a little anxious to be singled out for attention and wasn’t entirely sure what they were meeting to discuss. Luckily, Sakurano-sensei was not in a mood to mince words.

“I’ve been a bit worried about you lately,” she began, “You seem withdrawn and frustrated.”

Nase was too worn down to deflect, and anyway, she’d spent all year worrying that nobody cared about her progress and here was proof that at least someone had noticed her. She sighed.

“It’s been a rough year. I thought things were turning around but then…”

She wasn’t even sure how to end that sentence and couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact.

“I know I’m not going to pass it this year. Again.”

“Asumi-chan,” Sakurano-sensei responded, “Passing the pro exam takes a combination of skill, confidence, and luck. You have the skill-level, but your confidence is lower than ever and you’ve had absolutely no luck this year.” Her tender tone softened the blow of hearing such a resolute and insightful assessment of the situation.

“But I only have one year left…” Nase said dejectedly, her voice breaking slightly. She was clearly having a hard time controlling her words, and her emotions, but Sakurano-sensei kindly refrained from commenting on it.

Instead, she sighed before patiently but firmly continuing, “I was 22 when I passed, and many of the people who pass do so without ever being in the insei program. Frankly, for insei like you who attend competitive high schools, your odds of passing go up once you’re out of school and can focus full-time for a year or two on your technique.”

“There are a lot of great things about being an insei, but there are two big problems: It sets you up to think that your life is over if you don’t pass the pro exam by age 18, and it encourages you to fixate on your relative ranking and to constantly compare yourself to others.”

As Sakurano-sensei paused to take a sip of her drink, Nase admitted to herself that she was certainly guilty of both of those mindsets.

“Asumi-chan, if there’s anything you should have learned from last year’s exam, it’s that being the top-ranked insei is no guarantee that you will pass the exam and that a middle-ranked person can pull through with a very inspired, lucky run. _But_ , you’ll never have that kind of inspired run if you assume you won’t pass from the start because you’re insecure about your ranking.”

There was a lot for Nase to absorb from what Sakurano-sensei was saying but the question, “You really think I have the skills necessary to pass?” poured out involuntarily in an embarrassingly uncertain voice.

“Of course I do,” Sakurano-sensei scoffed. “Why else would we be having this conversation? You just need a bit more time to develop your own style and bolster your confidence and those things will only come with more experience and study.”

They continued talking for some time about strategies for improvement over the following year and as they parted, Nase bowed deeply and said, “Thank you, sensei. I promise I won’t quit and I’ll work harder than ever to pass the pro exam next year.”

 

* * *

 

Ultimately, Isumi, Honda, and an outsider named Kadowaki passed the pro exam that year and Nase finished in an unremarkable 10th place. She was disappointed in her performance, both on the exam and in general during the past year, but in the process she had learned her lesson and gained an important ally. As a result, she was able to move forward without wallowing, focused on the future and determined to make the most of her final year as an insei.

She began attending the Nine Star Club three times a week and, eventually, worked up the courage to ask Waya if she could still join his Saturday study group. His enthusiastic reply of, “That’d be great, we’ve really missed you!” left her feeling silly about just how long it had taken her to ask.

Her senior year of high school passed by in a hurried blur, which wasn’t surprising considering that she was attending study groups 4 or 5 nights every week. Suddenly, or so it seemed, she was standing at her graduation ceremony and then she had a few months to focus full-time on preparing for the pro exam. She couldn’t think about finding a real job until after the exam, but Sakurano-sensei helped arrange a part-time position for her at the go salon attached to the Nine Star Club.

By the start of the exam period she was the third-highest ranked insei and, for the first time ever, was exempted from the preliminary round. She was proud of her considerable improvement, but constantly reminded herself of Sakurano-sensei’s advice not to be overly invested in rankings.

“Skill, confidence, luck,” She chanted to herself each morning before the exam, “Skill, confidence, luck.”

Her skill and confidence had grown exponentially but, once again, luck was not on her side. In the end, she finished in fifth place, tantalizingly close to passing. After allowing herself to indulge in self-pity for a week, she gave Sakurano-sensei a call.

“Don’t worry,” Nase assured her, “I’m _definitely_ taking the exam again next year. I just need to figure out how to support myself in the interim. I wouldn’t feel right mooching off my parents for an entire year.”

“You’ve grown a lot this year, Asumi-chan,” Sakurano-sensei beamed. “And I’ve been thinking about your options for this year too. I have an exciting idea! Have you heard of Kim Eun Shil? She’s a Korean pro.”

Nase had to admit that she didn’t really know anything about the pros in Korea. She’d been too focused on passing the pro exam for the last few years to follow the international scene at all.

“Well,” Sakurano-sensei continued excitedly, “She’s a good friend of mine and I’d like to introduce you to her when she visits Tokyo later this month. She was just telling me the other day that she’s looking for a reliable employee to work at her go salon in Seoul for a couple of months and you’d be able to join her study group. If you’re interested, I think a change of scenery and some new people to study with might be exactly what you need.”

Nase attempted, with only minimal success, to keep her excitement in check until the date for the meeting finally arrived. Kim Eun Shil turned out to be a dignified but approachable woman in her late 40s who spoke in slow but very precise Japanese. Nase had liked her immediately and hoped that she was making a good impression. She really wanted this job.

After the usual pleasantries and some talk about the tournament that Kim was attending, the conversation finally turned to the potential job. “I’d like to practice my Japanese more and I need someone to work weekends at my go salon,” Kim started. “There’s a small studio apartment attached to the salon and it’s only two subway stops away from the Seoul Go Institute. You could attend my study group on Monday and Wednesday evenings and there are many other training and education events at the institute every week. The job is yours if you want it. Chieko has spoken very highly of you.”

Nase had started teaching herself the Korean alphabet that very night and was on a plane to Seoul a few weeks later.

 

* * *

 

When she had first arrived in Seoul, Nase hardly spoke any Korean. She only knew enough to get by in the go salon. And yes, it had felt lonely at times and frustrating to not be able to express herself properly, but it was also incredibly focusing. She could literally only speak about go and that was exactly what she needed.

She ran the salon on the weekends, taught a few students mid-week to make extra money, spent two weeknights every week with Kim Eun Shil’s study group, and spent all her free time at the Seoul Go Institute attending events, studying their extensive kifu library and playing pick-up games with anyone who happened to be around.

As the weeks passed by, she learned a bit more Korean, but she was still mostly talking about go.

The first two months flew by faster than she could have imagined and when Kim Eun Shil asked if she would be interested in extending the arrangement for an additional three-month period, Nase answered, “Yes, thank you. Yes, please.” all in an embarrassing rush before the other woman had properly finished her sentence.

Of course, if she was going to stay in Seoul for six months, and maybe longer, she figured that she really needed to learn more Korean.

It was the librarian at the Seoul Go Institute who, after noticing Nase alternating between an hour of studying kifu and an hour of studying Korean, had suggested that she put up a flyer looking for a language-exchange partner. And _that_ was how she ended up meeting, and briefly dating, Ko Young Ha.

Young Ha was not the kind of guy that she usually dated. He definitely spent more money on his hair and wardrobe than she did and she constantly had to roll her eyes and tease him over his casual arrogance. Nonetheless, they had shared a fun and memorable fling. He was surprisingly sweet, ridiculously good-looking and, best of all, just as obsessed with go as she was.

Even though she’s had years now to puzzle it out, she still finds it hard to reconcile Young Ha’s outrageous public persona with the guy she actually dated and is still friends with—the guy who used to leave her sweet voicemails in halting Japanese and continued to called her Nase-san for several weeks after they started dating, the guy who still sends her thoughtful and funny birthday cards every year. But even back then he was already infamous for publicly antagonizing Shindou, so she figures he’s never been able to resist turning into a trickster whenever there are cameras around.

As fun as those months were though, she had suspected from the start that it wouldn’t last long. Not that they weren’t compatible or that it ended poorly, but Young Ha was already a media darling and had far more of a celebrity presence than she ever imagined was possible for a go player. Maybe go fans were just different in Korea, or maybe Young Ha was just different. He certainly put a lot of calculated effort into his brash pop star image and it clearly paid off.

All it took was one article about how “adorable" it was that "Young Ha’s new girlfriend is trying to become a professional go player" and she knew it couldn’t work.

Even back then, Nase knew all too well that there weren’t enough women playing go professionally and those that were never got enough credit. She counted herself incredibly lucky to have acquired two inspiring female mentors, and from talking to them she knew that her struggle to be taken seriously would not end when she made pro. All the current title holders in Japan were men, and the situation wasn’t much better in Korea and China. Far too many people, far too many _male_ people, thought that this disparity demonstrated an innate difference in game-playing ability between men and women, rather than what it actually showed—that all but the most resolute women were driven away by the patronizing and sexist attitudes that permeated the industry. She couldn’t start her career off already in someone else’s shadow and she wasn’t about to be defined in relation to another player; especially not when she was already going to have to fight so hard to be respected in this field just by virtue of being a woman.

She had felt like a jerk breaking it off with Young Ha “for professional reasons” over something that wasn’t even his fault, but walking past a small, excited group of fangirls holding signs that read "Young Ha Oppa, I’ll learn go for you too!" afterwards as she left the Seoul Go Institute had strengthened her resolve.

And anyway, she had been in Korea for eight months and had to head home soon for the pro exam.

 

* * *

 

Upon her return to Japan, Nase immediately sensed just how strongly her time training in Korea had affected both her skill-level and her outlook. As much as she had missed her friends and was genuinely happy to return to her former study groups, stepping away from this place—from the expectations of who she was and how she played—had allowed her to evolve as a player in interesting ways and also immeasurably helped her focus on her own progress and priorities.

As she entered to pro exam that year for the first time as an outside challenger, and for the third time since the year when she had contemplated quitting, Nase felt that she had indeed developed the personal form and style that Sakurano-sensei had told her she would.

The two-month exam was still grueling and the fight for the last of the three coveted positions continued all the way to a three-person playoff round on the final day, but Nase surprised even herself with her ability to remain calm throughout those final games.

In the moments after she finished counting the stones and determined that she had won by two-and-a-half moku, she could hardly believe what it meant; but, when she looked up and saw the crowd of smiling onlookers encircling the goban and heard them congratulating her, she was overcome with a shockingly strong surge of warmth and pride. She knew she should stand up and say something, but for a moment she could only close her eyes, clench her fists, and breathe deeply. Suddenly, she felt a warm hand on her back and she opened her eyes to find Sakurano-sensei beaming down at her. Smiling so widely that her cheeks hurt, and with tears streaming down her face, Nase stood up and embraced her mentor.

It had taken years, many more years than she could ever have imagined when she first became an insei, and she’s not sure she ever could have done it without so much patient and kind assistance from her mentors, but she was finally a professional go player.

 

* * *

 

So, when Nase says she knows exactly where she stands, it’s because ever since her crisis period she has learned to prioritize taking honest stock of herself, her goals, and what it took to get her here. So many of her peers are focused on rivalry and being the Ultimate Player, but Nase’s path to confidence and success revolved around focusing on her own progress and her innate love of the game. Consequently, she no longer gets hung up on how many people are ahead or behind her and plays calm, collected games.

Having taken stock of everything that’s brought her here, and with Waya still nowhere in sight, Nase is left to ponder why she isn’t jumping at the opportunity to participate in this tournament in Seoul with Waya and Isumi. It’s been a while since she last visited Seoul and Waya and Isumi are two of her closest friends, so on paper this is a perfect opportunity, but she’d deflected when Waya first mentioned it.

If she’s going to be honest with herself though, Young Ha’s participation in the tournament is probably the main source of her hesitancy. Isumi and Young Ha will be headlining the event so she would definitely see Young Ha there, and she doesn’t know if she is up for a whole weekend of strained conversations.

She feels guilty admitting that, even just to herself, because she and Young Ha have remained on friendly, if long-distance, terms over the years. He had sent her a giant bouquet of flowers with a sweet message of congratulations soon after she’d passed the pro exam and they’ve always stayed in touch.

They still comfortably email back and forth giving each other pop culture recommendations and swapping gossip about the Korean and Japanese pro scenes. They occasionally see each other in-person too, usually about once a year at tournaments and publicity events just like the one Waya is proposing.

However, unlike their e-mails, those conversations are always oddly a bit awkward and stilted, leaving Nase with a vague impression that something is slightly off, but she can never quite puzzle it out. Young Ha storms through these events antagonizing, flirting, or some combination of the two, with almost everyone in sight, which only makes the somewhat formal and reserved way he interacts with her even more inexplicable.

On the other hand, Young Ha will probably be busy doing publicity with Isumi most of the weekend since they’ve somehow turned into the joint kings of the Korean go scene. Young Ha even occasionally forwards her pictures of ads they’ve appeared in together, with side commentary on Isumi’s relative levels of blushing in each one. She probably shouldn’t be so amused by her ex-boyfriend flirting with one of her oldest friends, but it’s a friendly sort of teasing and Isumi does blush more easily than anyone else she knows. Besides, he’s making tons of money off of endorsements and media appearances in Korea so she’s not about to feel bad for him just because he doesn’t know how to keep Young Ha in line.

Just then, Waya bursts through the door of the restaurant looking harried.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, sliding into the booth and casually stealing one of her now-cold fries. “My game ran way longer than expected. Did you eat already?”

“Just a snack since I figured you’d be late,” she smirks back at him. “Since the line is so long why don’t we talk first?”

She’s more or less brought herself around to agreeing to the tournament. After all, a free trip to Seoul and some quality time teamed-up with Waya and Isumi seems well-worth enduring whatever real or imagined weirdness there is between herself and Young Ha. However, she still has a few important questions.

“Okay, yeah,” Waya says, helping himself to the rest of her discarded fries, “like I said in the email, it’ll be a Japan versus Korea goodwill tournament with some publicity events for two days afterwards. There’ll be three players on each team and I thought you’d be the perfect addition since Isumi and I have already committed to it.”

“You said Isumi and Ko Young Ha will be headlining the event. Who else is on Team Korea?”

“Hong Su Young and Yoon Yu Jin,” Waya replies.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Nase asks, “Am I supposed to play Yoon Yu Jin?”

Nase has nothing against Yoon—judging from her kifu she’s a remarkable player—but Nase is not about to feed into the idea that there should be a _girls match._ She can barely handle that sexist drivel in sports, let alone in non-physical games like go. Yet, as she is all too aware, a certain, and depressingly sizable, portion of the professional go world still think that there should be “girls matches” and awards for “best female player.” Nase is _not_ about to fuel their delusions.

“Nase, of course we’re not going to tokenize you!” Waya assures her while looking slightly affronted, “I’ll play third board against Yoon and you’ll be second board against Hong Su Young, okay?”

After that, she agrees instantly. It’s always been near impossible to turn Waya down when he gets really excited about one of his schemes and she is ridiculously pleased that, judging from his word choice, he’s really been listening to her occasional rants about sexism in the industry.

 

* * *

 

The night before the tournament, Hong Su Young invites Isumi, Waya, and Nase over for dinner at his apartment. Nase has heard Isumi talk about Hong a bit in the past but she had no idea that they’d become such good friends. She’s thankful that he extended the invitation to her as well, or she probably would have spent the night in her hotel room poring over old games. They may be goodwill games, but she still really wants to win.

After dinner, Isumi insists on doing the dishes, and Waya insists on helping him, so she and Hong are left alone making chit-chat in the living room before dessert.

They talk a bit about the tournament and then, seemingly out of nowhere, Hong says, “You know, underneath all the bravado, Young Ha is actually a really decent person.”

“I know that,” Nase replies, somewhat taken aback, “Do you think I’d be friends with him if I didn’t know that?”

Hong looks hesitant, and Nase is about to ask him where this is even coming from, but then he continues, "I know it’s not my place, and ordinarily I wouldn’t say anything, but I just wanted to say that if you’re still interested in Young Ha, it’s about time you guys talked about it and if you’re not interested you should probably tell him that clearly and maybe stop replying to his emails."

"What? But we hardly ever talk! And when we do, it’s about… go statistics and pop culture. And how...how do you even know about that?"

"Of course I know,” Hong says, his tone implying that this is obvious. “He’s one of my best friends and he’s been pining over you for years.”

He pauses again, presumably to let Nase respond, but she’s too speechless to say anything after hearing “Young Ha” and “pining” in the same sentence. She has never met anyone who seems less inclined to quiet, soulful _pining_ than Young Ha but Hong definitely isn’t joking. And actually, this could explain the way that Young Ha gets a bit awkward around her in person _._

Several things begin to click into place and Nase realizes that she may have been looking at this entire situation from the wrong angle for years. She’s still processing this information when Hong adds, “Listen, this is supposed to be a secret, but he’s making me switch to first board in the tournament tomorrow just so that he can play against you."

Nase wants to ask Hong a million questions but before she can say anything at all, Waya wanders back into the living room carrying dessert.

As she sips her coffee over dessert, Nase ponders her options. Clearly she and Young Ha need to talk, but she doesn’t know what she wants to say to him yet. Her reasons for ending the relationship when she did were sound, but had she known that he felt so strongly about her, she probably wouldn’t have ended it so casually and definitively. Getting back together with Young Ha has been so far from her mind that she’s not even sure what she wants yet, or if their circumstances have changed enough to make it a viable option.

Nase is going to have to think long and hard about her next move. But she’ll figure out the right strategy the same way she always does—by staying level-headed and being true to herself.

 

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> I was super excited that [hestialuna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hestialuna/works) wanted a Nase counterpoint to [Four Times Ko Young Ha Flirted Shamelessly with the Japanese Pros for Fun and One Time That He Seriously Regretted It](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1593158) because I had a lot of Nase feels to share :)
> 
> I can't thank my beta [Zazial](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zazial/works) enough for her spot-on suggestions and all the support. <3
> 
> Because she is amazing, and because we are apparently trapped in an endless cycle of gift-giving, [hestialuna](hestialuna.tumblr.com) drew this wonderful illustration for the story


End file.
